


Butterfly Smile

by Kangalia



Series: A Smile to Change a Life [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gods and Goddesses (Greek Mythology), Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangalia/pseuds/Kangalia
Summary: They say a flap of a butterfly’s wings can cause a storm on the other side of the world. Well, using that philosophy, why can’t a smile change a life? In this case, it can and it did. Not that they knew that at the time, of course. If he had known that conversing with that little girl would have set off the events that it had, well, he was not a god for nothing. He just would have done it anyway, laws and consequences be damned!





	Butterfly Smile

She was seven years old when she first met him.

She had been a tiny, soft and innocent little girl who still hid behind her mother’s skirts and avoided social interactions like they were a plague. The uncomfortable feeling of _fakeness_ that came with interacting with other children, as if they did not act like their nature demanded, was sickening to her, and so she shied away from them. She could only stand to interact with adults, but most only saw her as a cute little girl who knew nothing of the world, and so they never took her seriously. So, she was lonely, despite being surrounded by others every day.

The adults acted like themselves mostly, despite meeting the small few who were as rotten and fake and _wrong_ as they came, but she found the presence of adults to be a refreshing change compared to the paradoxical nature and actions of the children surrounding her every day (she had compared them to ice cubes laid gently and soothingly on a feverish brow, back then). She could always differentiate between adults and children, and her mother had told her that it was a good talent to have. She agreed with her mother.

Maybe that was why she immediately knew that he was not a child, despite his appearance.

* * *

 

She had first interacted with him when she had attended one of those ridiculous fancy parties that her mother and all of her other high-class friends coveted. She was finally old enough to share in their _delight_ , apparently, for one morning she was all but dragged from her bed and forced into a ridiculously stuffy and constricting dress, with an excessive amount of fine satin and silk frills, by her 'very traditional’ aunt and one of her older female cousins. Thankfully, her mother had rescued her. She'd taken one look at her dress, frowned, and then shoved another dress at her before shoving her back into her room, sans overbearing aunt and cousin. A few minutes later, she'd come out wearing a flowing golden-silk dress that fell to just above her ankles, with see-through lace sleeves lined with pearly white sequins and a white leather belt around her midsection. Her aunt and cousin had gaped, their distaste and annoyance almost palpable, but her mother had simply ignored them and smiled at her before securing an ivory necklace around her neck and placing two small, pearl-studded earrings in her newly-pierced-for-the-occasion ears. To her own curiosity, a small pendant hung at the end of the white chain around her neck and a tiny, circular mirror was seemingly moulded into the stunning silver metal with intricate, unfamiliar engravings. Her mother had seen the object of her attention and a strange, almost alien look came to her face. She almost seemed… wistful. Or nostalgic. It was an odd look on her mother; a look she could not fully comprehend, for her mother's one motto in life was to never look back on the past. Her mother must have noticed the confusion hidden in her eyes (hidden well for her age, but not well enough for the woman who loved the man she had - that she still did), for she merely smiled, a hint of sadness lingering, while she gently grasped her hand to lead her from the house and into the transport waiting to collect them. _“The pendant is your father's symbol, my most cherished one. It was given to me for you, before he left. A memento to remember him by, I suppose…”_ She had watched her mother, listening to her mention her father, mother's lover, for the first time in her life, absently noting that the last part seemed to have been uttered more to the open air than directed at her. She had resolved to think this situation through thoroughly, for that was what a proper Herveaux would do, and she would _always_ be a proper Herveaux, French heritage notwithstanding.

Then, those thoughts were shoved to the back burner as she was ushered into the glossy black limousine and whisked away.

* * *

 

He was stood on one of the many sophisticated marble balconies belonging to the mansion hosting that night’s party, sipping a glass of that ridiculously fancy champagne the host had provided, when she first saw him. She had followed her mother in after being announced, and watched as the men leered in her mother's direction, eyes wandering to her ample bust and shapely figure like sharks to blood; watched as the women whispered and plotted behind their dainty, unworked and spoiled little fingers hidden by gloves like the skin of a sheep hiding the wolf. However, there was one fact that stood out for her. For everyone her mother looked at, they cowered beneath her gaze, even the predatory women, who scowled and grumbled but did not dispute her, nor the men who averted their eyes when they walked past. To her simplistic, child mind, it was simple. They saw her mother as a fellow predator. A _threat_ . She had been _so proud_ of her mother when she realised that and her respect for the woman had been kicked up several notches.

She'd suffered through a full three hours of listening to pompous women shooting daggers disguised as words at her mother and arrogant men trying and failing to charm their way into her mother's undergarments, when she finally felt like an elastic band ready to snap. The steely undertone in her eyes must have grown to noticeable potency, for her mother glanced at her, a small, reassuring smile on her face disguised as a frown to anyone else, before ushering her off to get some food and fresh air while she and the 'adults’ talked. She knew that her mother was merrily giving her an out, for her intellect had rivaleved most adults by the time she grew old enough to french plait her own hair (one of the first things a daughter of the Herveaux family is taught, according to her mother), and her mother knew. She had been the woman to help to nurture that intellect and talent, after all. However, she was grateful to her mother for the opportunity and took it, nodding with a blank expression to her mother (who recognised the slight gleam in her eyes and miniscule flaring of her nostrils for the thanks it was) before gratefully trotting off to collect a drink.

As the fakeness surrounding and gripping the adults milling around finally overwhelmed her, she decided to take her newly procured beverage (sparkling strawberry lemonade, which quickly became her favourite) and retreat to get some air. She was not worried about her mother not finding her - she'd seen her reaction enough to know that retreating was a defense mechanism and that she'd head to the best place for air without leaving the building. So, using this logic, she headed for one of the numerous balconies this place provided. And that's when she saw him.

She hadn't really acknowledged him straight away, as she'd been too preoccupied with ridding her senses of the sickly sweet feeling of lies and deceit that had been permeating the party (she had described it like _sensing_ rotting fruit all around her), but once she'd calmed down, she couldn’t help but notice him, seeing as he was the only other person on the balcony with her. Shyness had descended on her mind like an unfathomable cloak and she'd only taken a quick glance at the boy standing next to her before her courage failed her. It was the first time she'd seen a child who did not hide their nature, so she was understandably nervous. However, one glance told her this was not merely a child that had not picked up the automatic custom of hiding themselves and forcing their playful natures into a box too small for it to fit.

He was tall for his age (which she assumed was around 10 or 11), and had long, wavy black hair that fell to just above his shoulders. His face, which was angled towards her and ivory-pale, gave the distinct impression of an aristocratic lineage, with the high cheekbones, angled jaw and large, coal-black eyes that were trained on her, glittering in amusement. His tuxedo was dark grey in colour, with a traditionally white dress shirt underneath, and his dark grey slacks and black shoes were pressed and shined to perfection. He was the picture of a noble’s son, but that wasn't what caught her attention so largely. No, it was the way he held himself. He seemed almost awkward in his own skin, like he wasn't used to his height and his movements kept overreaching. No-one else would have noticed, for the movements were minute - almost not even there - but that did not meant they were hidden from one such as her. And so, she came to a rather startling conclusion.

He was a man in a child's body.

It would explain the truth in his behaviour and actions, for there was no fakeness in his soul or face. Attention thoroughly captured and feeling the apprehensiveness drain from her in the face of an adult, she turned to face the boy fully, head coked to the side and eyebrows furrowed as she tried to figure out how he had hidden his age so thoroughly. If she had been anyone else, she knew she’d never have even given him a second glance. It was, quite frankly, terrifyingly incredible. Unfortunately, by the way the boy merrily raised an eyebrow, an expression of innocence on his face so convincing that it nearly fooled her, told her that she would not get a straight answer out of him unless she was blunt. So, against her mother’s teachings, she was blunt. Hilariously so.

“You are not a child. You are a man. How do you hide yourself so?” The sudden tensing of his frame and widening of his eyes only confirmed the truth she had deduced and she took a few unwavering steps forward, still scrutinising him with her gaze. His eyes had grown cold, as if he was putting barriers against the world that hadn’t been there before - no, that she hadn’t _seen_ before! Her excitement grew, and it must have shown on her face, since an expression of confusion adorned his. He could somewhat _hide_ from her! She was not plagued by the horrific sense of fakeness and masks around him! Her senses were heavenly _quiet!_ It was _wondrous!_

Skipping forward, only just managing to make it look like she was still the heir to the Herveaux Family by reigning her overflowing exuberance in, she performed a small curtsey, a smile upon her face. “Forgive me for my _faux pas(1)_ in not introducing myself sooner, sir. I was just excited, for you have been the only one able to hide their true selves from me so thoroughly! I am Ariadne de Herveaux, only daughter of Eleonore de Herveaux and heir to the Herveaux Family of Nobles. I am pleased to make your acquaintance…” She waited patiently, head dipped slightly in the respectful way noble women were supposed to act to men or those of a higher standing, for the boy-man in front of her to introduce himself. Eyes flickering upwards, a small frown on her face (which would be unnoticeable to most, apart from her mother, who could always read her nearly as well as she herself read others), she wondered why he was not responding to her introduction after a moments of stifling silence. To not do so would be the highest of insults, or… a response to her earlier blunder! Wincing, she chanced a look at his face, only to see his eyes wide in shock and confusion, posture still stiff even if he leant away from her slightly. Tilting her head again, reminiscent of a curious dog, she lifted her head enough to see him properly but not enough to be disrespectful, and their eyes met. “Sir…?”  
“Can you always read people so thoroughly?” Jumping at the unexpectedness of his question, Her head lifted fully so she was properly facing the boy-man.  
“Well, yes, sir. Ever since I was a babe. Or at least, that is what my mother has told me. She mentioned that I inherited this talent from my father, who I presume has been deceased since my birth, for I have never seen him…” She trailed off, blushing after realising she had been rambling, and averted her gaze. Instead, she looked out across the landscape, mouth dropping open slightly in a soft, wordless exclamation of awe at the sight of the setting sun upon the horizon. The array of warm hues painting the sky and clouds and bathing the world in the fading light was so hypnotic to the child, that she did not notice the boy-man walking over to stand closer to her, his curious gaze scrutinising. “You like the sunset?” Glancing to the side, slightly perturbed to find the boy closer, but glad to see that he did not seem too insulted by her social indiscretion, she smiled at him before going back to watching the sun while answering his query. “I have always loved dawn and dusk. Do not ask me for a reason, for I do not have one, but it just seems so…” Struggling for the correct word to describe her feelings, she fell silent, the pair of them watching as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the light shining in their eyes was abruptly dimmed. Exhaling in wonder, she turned back to face the amused face of the boy, whom name she still hadn’t caught, and was about to ask once again when her mother’s summons reached the boy’s ears as well as her own. They both turned to face the noise while she took a few steps towards the doors, intending to go back inside. As she walked away, not looking back on the face of the peculiar boy (for it would be most improper for a lady of her station to seem _interested_ in a boy at her young age, no matter if that was not her intention), despite her intrigue and genuine happiness in discovering someone so well traveled down the path of masking their true natures, a baritone voice spoke up behind her. It was so different (deeper, older and more mature), but also so very similar to the boy’s own vocals that she gave a momentary pause. “I am Enfers de Mort (2), my good lady. However, you may call me… _Hades_.” Eyes widening as a large gust of wind suddenly erupted from the balcony, she spun around in the doorway to confront the boy-man. However, the sight before her caused her to screech to a halt, jaw having dropped and eyes wide and bright in disbelief. Rushing up to the edge of the balcony, getting there as fast as she could in her ankle-length dress, she peered over the edge to find some evidence of the wind having swept the boy over the edge. But all she saw was an undisturbed patch of gravel, a perfectly manicured hedge, and then fields stretching all the way to the horizon. Frowning in puzzlement, she walked away back to the ball, not willing to get an earful from her mother. She did not dwell on the boy after that, for it could not be possible. She couldn’t have seen the boy be replaced by a man in flowing black and brown robes, wearing an ornate black helm upon his head, could she? No, most certainly not, and presuming to have done so did not befit a woman from the Herveaux family. So no, she did not think on the mystery that was that boy again. Or at least, not _consciously._

* * *

 

Maybe that was why, when she attended an engagement ball a few months later with her mother once again, she strayed to the balcony. And maybe that was why; when she looked into those familiar black eyes glittering in amusement, a small uplifting in the corners of the mouth on that pale, aristocratic face; she _smiled back_.

**Author's Note:**

> List of Unfamiliar Terms:
> 
> (1) Faux Pas - a slip or blunder in etiquette, manners, or conduct; an embarrassing social blunder or indiscretion  
> (2) Enfers de Mort - literally means "Hades of Death" in French (if this is innaccurate, please let me know. I used Google Translate and in no way claim to know French or any language other than English!)
> 
> I haven't completed any of this story, at all (hides behind something) but I couldn't help posting this. I have had a sudden urge to write in Percy Jackson fandom for some reason, and finally gave in when I figured out a good story idea that I would enjoy writing. So, voila! 
> 
> For any of you that have read my previous works, I am (slowly) progressing with them, but I am not the sort of person that can just effortlessly put ideas to paper or reel out chapter after chapter in one sitting. I usually take weeks or even months to write one chapter, and I do not want to rush any of them. So, I will definitely be updating them, but I cannot you tell you when, since I don't know myself. Sorry!
> 
> If you haven't read any of my other works but like this one, then please check them out. The writing style is similar, and if you like their fandoms, then the chances are you'll enjoy them. Hopefully. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy and if you want to see more of this story, then let me know and I'll get cracking on chapter two! *smiley face!*
> 
> (By the way, I wrote this in around two hours because I was in the 'zone' as I like to call it, so if I have missed any spelling errors or gramatical issues that I did not manage to catch while checking it over, please leave a comment and I'll go back and fix it. Thanks a bunch!)


End file.
